


A Battle of Seekers

by KlainebowsAndDramioneflies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Competition, M/M, Quidditch, Rivals, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5050003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KlainebowsAndDramioneflies/pseuds/KlainebowsAndDramioneflies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The game might be over, but the fun has just started. There are no rules when two quidditch captains corner each other in the locker rooms long after their teams have headed back to the dorms... and Draco doesn't take losing well. [Shameless smut. Smutty smutty smut.]</p><p>Tumblr prompt for 'Drarry'</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Battle of Seekers

The game hadn't lasted very long at all. It might have been the quickest quidditch match Draco had ever been a part of, to be quite honest, and that was part of what upset him so much. Why didn't he see that damned snitch? Why didn't he realize Potter had seen it? Why, why, why? So many questions and so few answers. Why hadn't his beaters actually aimed for the other seeker a few times like he trained them to? Why hadn't his chasers scored better?

And why, why for the love of Salazar, hadn't Draco even come close to winning?

If there was one thing Draco Malfoy hated, it was losing. If there was one thing he hated more than losing, it was losing to fucking Potter. Draco had immediately sent his team to the showers and up to the castle, not wanting to give any kind of speech or lecture. He simply wasn't in the mood to deal with any of that. He was pissed and tired and frustrated and the fact that the sun was still shining just seemed to be mocking him.

He need to get the rage out of his system, assert his own dominance again. He needed Potter, and he needed him now. The Gryffindor would most likely have given some inspired victory speech until his team bailed and headed for their dormitory, probably still sweaty and disgusting in their gear being carried off by those obnoxious lions. But Potter... He'd be in the locker room. He'd slowly peel away the layers of his uniform, stashing his gear in his locker and slipping the dirt and sweat-soaked clothes into the laundry bin that the elves collected after every match and practice.

Then he'd start the shower and start to wash, and wait, and know... He'd know Draco would come. Draco always came. Any time they had a match against each other, but even when that wasn't the case. When Potter was in the locker rooms, Draco found him. It was as if the blonde sensed him and had to come. Potter was his drug, and this was the best place to secretly take him in, to get that high that he craved.

So Draco went. He was already damp from his own shower, dressed in his usual slacks and a white oxford that was completely unbuttoned and hung loose, billowing around him when he walked. His bare feet were stuffed in his untied shoes and his hair was wet and fell in his face. Steel-grey eyes glared at the sun for mocking him as Draco crossed the field and entered the opposing locker room, instantly hearing the water of the shower and smelling the familiar aroma of Potter's soap.

His nostrils flared and his dick ached in his pants. Merlin, he needed this. He needed to assert his dominance since he'd failed so badly to do so during the match. He needed to remind Potter that he was, and always would be, the lead male. Draco was the dominant force and Potter would kneel and take it. That was how it always was and always would be, no matter what happened on the pitch.

Without even bothering to remove his clothes, Draco strutted to the source of the water, finding a soggy Gryffindor under the spray, his clothes and glasses abandoned outside the stall. Draco licked his lips at the sight, cock twitching while he stood waiting for the other boy to notice his presence.

"I can feel you staring, Malfoy," the boy quipped, and Draco shook his head, unable to hold back his laughter. "Is that all you came here to do, or are you going to get your arse in here before the water gets cold?"

With a smartass remark about magic and not having to worry about the water temperature on his tongue, Draco kicked off his shoes and joined the shorter boy in the shower, his clothes soaking up the water, though he didn't care one bit. He could dry them with magic when they were done. Right now, he just wanted to be close to his prize.

"You sure are demanding, Potter," the Slytherin commented huskily, his hands finding their way around the shorter male's sides to play at the well-defined muscles that were generally hidden but the school uniform or layers of quidditch gear or those hideous Weasley sweaters. The point was, both of them had earned their abs and biceps and the strength that quidditch built, and Draco was all too willing to show it off. Harry, however, seemed to only let a select few see the way his body had developed over the years. Draco was rather glad to be a part of that small crowd.

The blonde trailed long, skilled fingers over hip bones and abs, letting callused digits dip into the divots that led down to his companion's groin, then slide up over his happy trail to dance about his navel. The dark-haired boy shivered and leaned back against him, making Draco smirk and let out a soft purr of satisfaction. He loved taking people apart, especially his rival seeker.

Leaning in, Draco nipped at the Gryffindor's ear, one hand reaching  up to play at a peaked nipple while the other teased around, but didn't quite touch, Potter's growing erection. "Tell me what you want, Potter," he growled in the other boy's ear. His hips jerked and even with his slacks still on, wet and plastered to his body, he delighted in the friction of his dick against Potter's bare ass. "Do you want me to fuck you, Potter? Do you want me to own your arse?"

The Gryffindor whimpered as Draco latched onto his neck right where it dipped to his shoulder, sucking and biting and bruising in such a way that the boy would have to use a glamour to hide the mark. Oh, but Draco loved marking what was his, and Potter most definitely was. There were many people the prince of Slytherin could count as his own conquests, and the hero of the lions was definitely one of them. That was one of his greatest accomplishments, truth be told.

Smirking, Draco slipped his open shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall to the shower floor with a wet 'plop'. He pulled Potter toward him by the hips, grinding their lower halves together until the friction was just too much and he had to get his pants off, pulling away only just enough to slide his hands to his button and zip and undoing them so his slacks could join his shirt and he was finally, blissfully naked.

"Merlin's saggy balls, Malfoy, hurry up!" Harry demanded, and Draco growled. He grabbed the boy by the hips and shoved him into the nearest wall face-first such that the shorter male had to brace himself on his hand so as not to break his face on the tile.

He yelped and Draco grinned against the back of his neck. "Stop bitching like a little girl, Potter. I'll fuck you when I'm damn well ready and not a minute sooner."

As soon as the Gryffindor seemed to accept that Draco wasn't going to fuck him yet, the blonde muttered a lubrication spell and slid home in one deliciously painful thrust. It was so unexpected and completely toed the line between too much and just enough, that mix of pleasure and pain that always had the raven-haired male crying out for more while begging for less at the same time. He was always so conflicted, but he never told Draco to stop. He never said the word that would bring everything to a hault. And that was what kept the Slytherin coming back time and time again.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, Merlin. Oh, Draco!" Ah, yes. There it was. The sweet sound of winning. He always broke the boy. Always. It was always Malfoy until he fucked him. Then Potter broke and it was 'Draco'. But never Harry. No, Draco would never break like that. He'd never be so informal with his rival. His nemesis. His lover. Never.

"That's right, Potter," he grunted, thrusting harder as he pinned the boy to the wall, pulling on his hips while biting at the back of his neck, his shoulder, marking him again and again. "Say my fucking name."

And he did. The boy chanted it like a prayer. "Draco, Draco, oh, fuck, Draco," he moaned breathlessly all while the Slytherin pounded into him. He was relentless and had Harry's cock leaking down the wall, precome making the tile sticky and shiny as his dick tapped it with each hard thrust.

"Take it, Potter. Take it like the slut you are."

Sometimes it seemed like they should stop whatever this thing between them was, but then they'd get together again, and it would be this bliss that neither could do without. Maybe it wasn't normal, and maybe it was bad that they hid it, but it worked for them. And they got such a release from it. No one ever had to know, and unless it stopped being good for them, they wouldn't stop. They couldn't stop. Not when it was so good.

Draco bit the shorter boy's shoulder hard enough to break the skin as he found his release deep in Potter' ass, the Gryffindor exploding all over the tile wall, shaking with the euphoria of his orgasm. "Fuck, Potter. You feel so good," he muttered, while the other seeker simply panted heavily, trying to catch his breath.

Pulling away, Draco gathered his pants and shirt and stalked out of the stall, grabbing his wand and muttering the charm to dry his clothes. He was already half way out the door with his pants on and his shirt over his shoulders when Potter's voice reached his ears.

"Hey Malfoy!" Draco turned and looked over his shoulder at the wrecked boy who was smirking at him. "I still beat you today."

Shaking his head, Draco simply flipped the Gryffindor off and walked back to his own locker room to gather his things and head back to the castle. Yeah, Potter might have beaten him on the pitch, but Draco won. He always won. And that massive hickey on Potter's neck, the bite wound on his shoulder, and the fact that he still called Draco by his first name? All of those things just solidified it in his mind.


End file.
